


Dear Sherlock (A Dear John AU)

by spunkyexpat



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Epistolary, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 5,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spunkyexpat/pseuds/spunkyexpat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another way out of the Great Chapter 25 Hiatus of wendymarlowe's Dear John.  More letters; some texts; some seashells.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 27

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wendymarlowe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymarlowe/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Dear John](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2647979) by [wendymarlowe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymarlowe/pseuds/wendymarlowe). 



Dear John,  
Again, thank you for last night. Give me a few days to think. I’m not at all unhappy with you or with this—exactly the opposite—but I need time to think and I don’t talk when I’m thinking. Back soon,  
William

Dear William,  
Gotcha. I’m a bit used to that. My old roommate used to do it too—called it “going to his mind palace.” I’m thankful you had the foresight to tell me you were going—he would just go quiet and I couldn’t always tell why. Come on back when you’re ready, and I’ll be here. And, probably, will think of you nonstop in the meantime.  
John


	2. December 31

Dear John,  
Here I am. Happy New Year, tonight.  
I’ve got a question for you:  
I want very much to see you. It is not possible for me to come back to the UK right now but could break away from work for a bit. If you’d be willing to travel, I could meet up with you.  
If you would not mind jet lag, and would fancy someplace warm, I have a place in mind. Little island on the gulf coast of Florida, called Sanibel. I stayed there once after I did a favor for a friend, and I know it well. I don’t want to risk you, at all, by bringing you to me, and it seems safer to me if we go to a place that is familiar ground for me. As my penance for being geographically inconvenient, I’ll take care of your travel arrangements.  
I must tell you, though, that I am so afraid to meet you. I am so afraid of your reaction when you know me face to face. I am afraid that you will realize that I am not someone that you can love. I dread hurting you, and I fear that I will, grievously. And I am afraid that your hurt will wound me such that I will not recover from it.  
But the want is stronger than the fear, and so I ask you: will you come?  
William


	3. January 1--January 2

  
Dear William,  
And a Happy New Year to you, too. Didn’t do much—Greg and I went for a pint, and then when the rest of the Yarders showed up it was too awkward and I left. Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Turner and I watched the London fireworks on TV. Mrs. Hudson is my former landlady, and Mrs. Turner is one of her book club friends. So, not a very exciting start to 2015 but it has started just the same.  
To answer your question: Yes. I would love to come. If this is the way I can see you now, I’ll do it. Some sun sounds lovely after London gray, too.  
How long would you need, to set things up? A few weeks lead time enough? Maybe end of Jan or early Feb? I could get a whole week off, and I normally don’t work weekends, so maybe I leave here on a Sat and leave there the next Sat, getting back here Sun? I have taken no leave and covered countless shifts for other people in the last few months, so I’ve got some favors I can call in.  
If you’ve got that much time I mean. I know your work is crazy. If not, I’ll take all I can get and be happy for that.  
And I understand that you are worried. This trip is the scariest thing I’ve contemplated doing lately, too. I have grown so fond of our long-distance friendship, and I feel so protective of it. But I don’t think you need to worry. I am confident in the man who has shared all these words with me. I am confident that you are truly you in these letters. You know of me that I’m dented and uncertain too, and you’re giving me the benefit of the doubt. So let me do the same for you, okay?  
I’m not necessarily expecting this to all be totally straightforward, either. I know that people in general and relationships in particular are not easy for you. They aren’t particularly so for me either. So we’re going to have to work together, and we will.  
John  
  
  
Dear John,  
Wonderful. I’ll see when I can get the condo, and be back in touch. More soon.  
William


	4. January 4

J: Hi! I don’t know where you are so I don’t know what time of the day it is for you, but wondered if I’d get lucky and you’d be on…?  
W: Indeed here I am. Waiting for a phone call, which will likely be followed by a meeting. If I am fortunate, these will be uneventful.  
J: Speaking of which, if you can tell me, how’s work going? Are you making progress? I’m quite excited that we’ll get to see each other, but am hoping that getting finished would put you back in the city sooner. I know you like it here. And I’d like to have you here.  
W: It’s hard to tell how much progress I’m making. It’s hard to tell even what the scope of the work is, which would tell me how much I’ve finished. The Augean stables probably didn’t look all that big when Hercules started on them, either.   
J: A more pleasant topic then: this place we’re going? How did you find it?  
W: Did a favor for a friend, and as a form of thanks she encouraged me to go stay in her niece’s place there. Actually, her encouragement took the form of hiding my plane ticket home and refusing to give it back until we’d spent a few days there together. Against all odds, I found it pleasant.   
J: Sounds like she’s an expert at managing you!  
W: In some matters, yes. I was also much younger and less formidable then.   
J: Younger, okay, but it’s hard to imagine you less formidable.   
W: that’s the phone. Off to my meeting maybe. We’ll talk later.


	5. January 9

Dear John,  
The place I want for us is not available until mid-February. Not even my persuasive efforts can undo other people’s long-held condo reservations, apparently. Though not for lack of trying.   
How do you feel about arriving Saturday the 14th, leaving Saturday the 21st so you got back to London on Sunday the 22nd?  
Work is infuriating as ever. A lovely combination of incompetent colleagues and unpleasant contacts. But apparently I have made some good progress and have only a few more areas to secure. It’s heartening.  
William


	6. January 10

Dear William,

Those plans sound perfect. I am eagerly anticipating my time in the sun! Arriving February 14th, huh? Hmm let’s see what I can do with that…

Hope your work is going better by now. Mine can be a bit routine, but there are fun moments. The best bit is to be able to put the pieces together and deduce what the problem is and how to solve it. All the more so when it’s not a run-of-the-mill case of sinus infections or sprained ankles, they are the “zebras” as one of my professors used to call them. (you know, you hear hoofbeats and most of the time it’s a horse but occasionally it’s a zebra.) 

People aren’t necessarily the most reliable reporters of their own conditions, oddly enough. Once they get sick, they get unobservant. They’re so busy thinking about the headache that the stomach pain completely slips their minds, and knowing they have both is the piece of information you need. And, some people wait too long to go to the doctor (so when I had been unable to walk for two months, I thought maybe I should seek help), and other people don’t wait long enough (I’ve been sniffling for 12 hours now please fix it!) So you have to put all that together and figure out what’s going on.

My old roommate would laugh at the idea that I do detective work, I’m sure. He didn’t think much of my abilities compared to his, and that’s fair enough I guess. But I think that going observing with him probably sharpened my skills at picking out the important information from the noise. I wonder if he would have been pleased to know that.

Looking eagerly forward to next month!

John


	7. January 12

Dear John,

Gathering up clues and evidence and drawing the right conclusions sounds exactly like detective work to me. And I’ll bet you’re quite adept at it. Even if he wasn’t trying to teach you anything, I believe he’d be pleased to know he succeeded.

I’m so glad that time will work for you. A little about our destination: it is lovely, in a quiet way. Because it’s on the gulf side, the waves are gentle and the seashells arrive on the beach relatively undamaged. I’ve found all kinds of things: heart cockles, various conchs, even an angel wing and a wentletrap. Most of the beaches are public, large wildlife refuge prevents a big chunk of the island from being overrun and ruined by people. 

There is very little to DO there. Picking up interesting seashells on the beach, going over to the wildlife refuge and watching while the crabs scuttle around on the mangrove roots and the anhingas dry their wings in the sun, trying not to step on the ridiculously tiny pinecones. Watching the sea go in and out and in and out. And nothing that must be scheduled, other than perhaps dinner reservations; only reason to look at a clock is to see how long you have until low tide.

Which would seem to make it an odd choice of refuge for somebody who loves cities and being busy. But as I said, this is a safe place and I want to bring you somewhere we can relax. When I was younger I would do anything to avoid being bored; I am learning that it’s useful to bring the mechanism to a halt sometimes and take time. So that’s what we’re going to do: not much. But we will be doing it in the same place and that’s what matters.

Work continues. The more progress I make with it, the sooner I’m back in London with you. And I’m doing all I can. I have never been a particularly patient person, but I’m trying to be.

William

 

Dear William,

I had to look up “anhinga.” They don’t look like very friendly birds.

John

 

Dear John,

Not unfriendly, in the sense of predatory. They just have very big wings. You will soon see this in person, along with many other things.

William


	8. January 14

J: Hi, you on?

W: Yes, here I am. 

J: Just wanted to make sure you noticed it’s one month, today!

J: I am not certain if what I will want to do with you first is take you to bed, or talk for days. I’m entertaining suggestions about that ;)

W: Oh no you’re winking at me again.

J: Yes and soon I’ll be doing it in person ;) ;)

W: How will I withstand the force of your charm. I do wonder.

W: And as far as the suggestions, we do have a week. Perhaps there will be time for both.

J: Yes, I expect so.

J: Oh, that’s the door. Molly is here and we’re going over to Greg’s. I think I’m the excuse—they are actually much more interested in talking to each other than either one is to me. But if they need an excuse at the moment, I’ll provide one. Must go. Soon!

W: Yes. Soon.


	9. January 20-21

January 20, 2015

Dear William,

I am sorry it’s been a while since I have been in touch. We’ve been working crazy hours—flu season is in full swing now, along with everything else. It’s a battle to make it to the end of the day without being sneezed or vomited on, and then getting sick ourselves. 

I’m not sleeping well, either. The nightmares are bad. And the weird thing is, you’re in them. I can’t see your face but I know it’s you, and I’m trying to get to you and help you but I can’t.

All this to say, I’m still here, and I still care, and coming to be with you is the light that keeps me trudging through this tunnel. But pardon me while I fall over and sleep for weeks, I’m too damn tired to be social.

John

 

January 21, 2015

Dear John,

I guess full hazmat suits are impractical for everyday use, but someone should work on developing some better protection for you and your colleagues. I’ll work on it, once this task is over. Would be interesting to experiment with the permeability of different fibers.

I am sorry to hear about the nightmares, as well. I feel I’m too far away to help with that one though. I wish I were closer.

Please, don’t worry. It takes energy to “be social,” as you said, and we all get worn out sometimes, infuriating as that is. Nothing for it but to repair the transport: take the best possible care of yourself, and be in touch when you can. I’ll be right here.

William


	10. January 31

J: {photo} 

J: I’ve been swimsuit shopping, see?

W: Yes, very nice. Looks quite good on you. 

J: You getting new togs too? Want to model?

W: No

J: To the togs or the modeling?

W: Winter here. Too cold for modeling.

J: Oh fine. Make me wait.


	11. February 2

Dear John,

You should be getting an envelope by courier shortly. When you do, go through it and see if anything is missing. I think you’re thoroughly prepared but let me know. 

William

 

Dear William,

Um, no, nothing is missing, but there are a lot of things in here that I did not expect. A new passport with the right picture and the wrong name? A drivers’ license and credit cards and tickets to match? Are you sure this is a good idea—is it even legal? Otherwise, though, I think I’ve got everything. I have tickets, an address, and a key to open the door. Can’t ask much more than that.

John

 

Dear John,

You should encounter no problems. And yes, I’m sure it’s a good idea. I am to see to it that I do not lose you, and this is the best way.

William

 

Dear William,

You must know some really interesting people. I’ll be asking no further questions. At least, not until I see you in person.

John


	12. February 14

8:00 am February 14, 2015

J: At the gate waiting to board. Soon!

 

12:00 noon February 14, 2015

W: I looked up your flight and you’re over the Atlantic. I’m in FL too now.

 

5:50 pm February 14, 2015

J: Wheels down Fort Myers! In taxi line. Man it’s bright.

W: Good news. I’m out getting provisions. Come on in when you arrive.

 

7:00 pm, February 14

Exhausted and a little queasy from the turbulence on the flight, John leaned against the taxi’s back seat. He winced as the setting sun came sharp into his eyes. 

Juggling his suitcases and the flowers he’d bought at the airport, John let himself into the apartment on the second floor. As he entered, he felt the gentle whoosh of the air conditioning, and saw that the curtains were blowing in a gentle breeze, soft sea sounds through the open door. 

John looked through the apartment to the balcony, and beyond it, the sea. In the fading light he could just make out a tall gaunt figure on a lounge chair on the balcony, face turned away, only his back clearly visible. He was thin, perhaps dangerously so; his ribs showed, and the skin on his back was covered in angry red scars. Many of them were healed, a few newer. 

John crept closer, not wanting to disturb William’s rest, marveling at him. The plastic around the flowers made a rustling noise, and the figure on the chair woke. He whirled around and half-rose from the chair. His eyes flew open. John was astonished to find his eyes looking into Sherlock’s.


	13. Overnight, February 15

(Typed on the laptop in the apartment)

Dear William or Sherlock or whoever the hell you are,

Between the jetlag and last night, I wasn’t sleeping anyway so I figured I’d write at you. So I wrote this at 3:00 am when I could not possibly have slept anyway, and now I’m going to sleep for a while. Do not wake me. We’ll talk more when I wake up.

I guess the good news is that you’re not dead. And yes, of course that’s good news, tremendously so. But it comes with so many other things. 

Can you guess how mortified I must be? That I poured out my heart to William about my dead brilliant roommate Sherlock, and not only did you know perfectly well that said dead brilliant roommate wasn’t actually dead, it WAS you? And suddenly, you knew both sides of everything that had happened to us in those two years, and I knew nothing and still don’t? 

There are some things I need from you:

I need to know all of it. Why you did what you did. Why you left me out. I would have done anything to help you and protect you, and you didn’t give me the chance. I need your reasons. I may not agree with them but I have to know why you thought it was worth taking yourself from me, and why you couldn’t trust me to help you. 

And I need to know who you are. The Sherlock that I lived with was razor-sharp, William is equally stunningly intelligent but so much more gentle. I do not recall Sherlock ever so much as buying milk; William stocked the fridge. Sherlock believed that alone protected him; William reached out to me and made friends, and then was eager enough for my company to bring me here. Are you Sherlock or William? Or were you one and are you now becoming the other, and if that’s it, what changed you? 

Lastly, we—not you, WE—need to figure out what to do next. I cannot live through losing you again. I will not live through it, I know that. Please understand I would rather die working with you than go home without you and hear six months from now that I’ve lost you all over again. You have brought me back into this by letting me know that you are alive; you are not allowed to shove me away again.

But look. I want you to notice something: I have not gone out for air. Remember how I used to do that, get so furious at you that I’d just disappear? Because either I couldn’t say what I felt, or I didn’t believe you’d hear me if I said it? Well, you are not the only one who is changing. I have not gone out for air, and I am not going. I am right here in the apartment, where you can find me. I am staying, and we are going to work this out. 

John


	14. 11:00 a.m., February 15

Sunlight streamed into the apartment. Sherlock wandered out of his room, looking for John or evidence of him. The laptop was open on the dining table, its screen brightly lit; a teacup was discarded beside it. Sherlock sat down and began to read.

An hour or so later, John wandered out, rubbing his face sleepily. He found Sherlock still sitting at the laptop, staring at the screen.

“Morning.”

“Good morning, John.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. Sherlock’s eyes were solemn but hopeful.

John broke the connection first and moved toward the kitchenette. “I’m going to make tea.”

“There may still be some. I made some earlier.” 

John smiled wryly. “Oh, that’s right. You make tea, now.”

The silence between them was suffocating.

John spoke first. “Would you like to go for a walk?”


	15. 10:00 p.m. February 15

(Typed on the laptop in the apartment)

Dear John,

We spent all day together, walking, and talking, and we exhausted ourselves. We ate takeout, and watched a truly ridiculous and predictable spy movie, and then you retreated to your room to sleep. I cannot. I am still trying to make sense of it. I am wondering if showing this to you in the morning will be of use.

I can only tell you that when I jumped, I did not understand. I thought the primary risk to you was a physical one, and that my leaving would spare you that. By surrendering my chance to be with you, I could preserve you. It seemed reasonable to think that I had solved the problem.

But I now know that I had missed something crucial. I did not know that I was important to you, or that the emotional pain you would feel would be as debilitating as physical pain. I did not know how much damage it would cause you, to be physically unharmed but to be without me. But knowing you now, I see all the more clearly what the consequences of my actions were. Though I did not intend to hurt you—exactly the opposite—you were hurt, and I see that. And I regret it. I am sorry.

And because I now know this, it seems all the more miraculous to me that you’re still here. With that understanding, your willingness to tolerate even being in the same room with me is, frankly, all the more improbable. Utterly unreasonable. And yet, here you are. I can only surmise that perhaps that is because I am important to you. And that gives me hope.

Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admin note: the dates are not going to match up with the actual date from here on out. will post a chapter a day. I'm planning travel and don't want to leave you hanging!


	16. February 16

John’s scrawled note—BACK SOON, J.—was leaning against the teapot. As Sherlock puttered around in the kitchen, he heard a key turn in the lock, and John walked into the apartment, a box in his hands.

“I saw your note from last night,” John said.

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And. I was out because I wanted to get something for you. I don’t know if you remember seeing a big king conch at that shop yesterday, but there was one, and it reminded me of you. I thought it would be very appropriate for you, you know, since you’re a scientist and it has such interesting geometry up in the spiral at the top, but it’s also so beautiful. So I, um, I walked there and I just got back.” 

Sherlock removed it from the box and turned it over in his hands. “Yes, John, it truly is lovely. Thank you.” Sherlock looked at John warily. 

John swallowed, and looked uncertain, and then took a deep breath and spoke again.

“I, um--I thought maybe it could go on the mantelpiece next to the skull, when we go home.”

“When we go home?”

“Yes,” John said. “When you’re done with Moriarty and we can go back to 221B. Back home.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened, joy dawning across his face. “You’re willing to make a home with me? After…?”

“Surprisingly, yes.” John gave a half-smile. “And yes, as you said, maybe nothing ‘reasonable’ about it. It’s a little frightening that I could completely see your thought process. I see how you got to the ludicrous conclusion—“

John continued over Sherlock’s snort. 

“—that I would be better off thinking my best friend dead. Even if you were wrong about it, and even though I suffered for it. But what makes me willing to stay rather than storming away, is who you’ve become since. When you were William to me, in those letters, you let me into your world in a way that you never had when we lived together. And you did that again last night, which shows me that it’s not an act, it’s a new habit. You wanted me to understand you, and you kept trying until you made yourself clear to me. And as long as we do that with each other, I have faith.”

Sherlock’s eyes glistened. “Dare I hope that I’m…forgiven?”

John gave a half-smile. “Yes. Well, mostly. I still hurt, and I am still working at it. But,” John shrugged, “I find that given the option of being with you, I don’t really want to be anywhere else.” 

Tears of relief spilled down Sherlock’s face. He dropped to his knees in front of where John stood, clinging to him, burying his face in John’s chest. 

For a long time, he said nothing, and the two held on to each other in a fierce grip. 

Finally, Sherlock spoke, his voice rough. “Oh, John. Thank you. I was so afraid.”

Sherlock let go and looked up to meet John’s eyes. Sherlock sank to the floor, and John sat beside him. 

“I did not understand, and then suddenly I did, and it was excruciating. I understood what I had done to you. And I knew what I had lost, and I thought I could never get it back, not as Sherlock. That was why I became William: to know what it might have been like, had I been a different person, to be loved by you. To love you. And you seemed to care for him and that gave me hope: I hoped that if you accepted William, you could accept Sherlock as well. You know I have never had patience with sentiment, John, but I do see now that it is—useful. Frustrating, but useful. And I promise you that I will try my best.”

John reached out and cradled Sherlock’s face in his palm. “Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“We’re sitting on the kitchen floor. Perhaps we should move somewhere else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut in this one is do-it-yourself, not for lack of intending it, but for lack of nerve to write it. So now that we've reached a fade-to-black moment, fire up your own imagination, huh?


	17. February 18

(Typed on the laptop in the apartment—morning)

Dear John,

It seems this works for us, to leave a laptop open on the table and write to each other when talking to each other is more than we can do. As long as the words continue, I suppose it doesn’t matter if they are in person or on paper. 

We have a decision to make fairly soon. You know that my work is not complete. Until it is, I can’t come home and you are still at risk. So it has to be done, and I have to do it. The question then becomes whether you will go back to London and wait for me, or you will stay with me and we will finish it together.

I have to admit that when I asked you here, I did not much consider this. I was so unsure even about seeing you—and how you would react to me—that I could not think past it, to how the trip would end. I did not think about taking you to the airport and leaving you there, and then returning to my task. I did not think about what that would be like for either of us.

You know how vital you are to the Work. And I can’t help but think that perhaps together we could complete it and return to our life in London all the faster. As much as I cannot stand the idea of putting you at risk once again, I do not have the strength to try to make you go home. I need you too much. I need my conductor of light, my healer, my John. If it is possible for you to stay with me: please.

Sherlock

 

(Typed on the laptop in the apartment—afternoon)

Dear Sherlock,

Count me in. For always.

John

 

(By text)

He is not using ticket home. Get refund if you wish I don’t care. But get us both to Rio on the 21st. SH

A happy reunion then. Well, that’s good, isn’t it. MH

The way we were, we are again. More or less. SH

Be careful, brother mine. MH


	18. February 20

They awakened early, but emerged from their bedroom sometime later, only after John could no longer manage without tea.

They prepared for a day out. When John produced a bottle of sunscreen, Sherlock pronounced it tedious; John smiled tolerantly and rubbed some on Sherlock’s nose anyway.

Sherlock asked, “You don’t want to check your email before we go?”

John smiled back. “You are the only one I’d be seeking an email from; and you’re here. So, no.”

They chatted as Sherlock drove to the wildlife refuge where they had decided to spend their last day before continuing to Rio. “You never told me. The mystery friend who made you come here in the first place?” John asked.

“…Is Mrs. Hudson, yes. After the business in Miami with Mr. Hudson was over, we came here and stayed with her niece. She couldn’t leave the state right away, but we were far enough away from Mr. Hudson’s contacts.”

They followed the gravel road into the refuge, passing alligators sunning themselves on the bank. Further on, anhingas spread their wings to dry them, as spoonbill cranes rooted around in the muck at the shore. They walked down a wooden boardwalk to an overlook over the marsh. After a while, they stayed still enough to see the motion within the mangrove tangle: crabs ran up and down the mangrove roots, conchs traveled about in the shallows. Tiny fish could be seen in the water.

Groups of people would flow onto the boardwalk, talk and point at things, look and take pictures, and then ebb away again to return to their buses. In between crowds of people, the boardwalk was deserted until the next wave brought more travelers. Sherlock and John observed this process through a couple of rounds; Sherlock deduced the travelers as they came in, leaning into John’s ear and whispering to him about their preferences and personalities. When the tourists were gone and there was no human nature to observe, they simply listened to the silence.

Then, suddenly, a single pair of footsteps echoed down the boardwalk.

“Here they are, the happy couple.”

Sherlock’s eyes were fierce. “You were not supposed to be here. You were supposed to be in Rio until the end of the month.”

Moriarty stood in front of Sherlock, uncomfortably close. “Oh yes, but I wanted a holiday too, when I heard you were going. I’ve heard such great things about this little island here. My friend says there’s not much to do, but it’s a safe place.” Moriarty reached out and ran a finger along Sherlock’s jawline. “And I wanted to go somewhere that we can relax.”

John’s eyes went wide at the memory of the phrases—was it possible that he hadn’t been the only reader of all those months of messages?

Sherlock flinched away from his touch with a sneer of disgust.

Moriarty continued. “Not sure how relaxing it’ll be, though, with the three of us. One too many, I think. Amazing that after all this time you’ve kept your pet,” he said, cutting his eyes at John. “And you’ve gone to great lengths this time to bring him to you. A new name: how clever. You thought I wouldn’t see through it? Or you thought I wasn’t paying attention?”

Fury and anguish showed on Sherlock’s face. “I was selfish. I thought I could protect him.”

Moriarty smirked. “You cannot protect your heart, Sherlock. The problem with having a heart, is that hearts—stop—beating.” On the last three words, Moriarty used the gun to gesture at Sherlock’s chest.

John could take no more, and came at Moriarty from the side, knocking the point of the gun away from Sherlock. As they wrestled, Moriarty managed to fire, and John felt again that familiar pain, saw that haze of red. John fell to the boardwalk. Sherlock and Moriarty wrestled, vaulting together over the railing and into the shallow water.

Moriarty grinned evilly. “You sure you don’t want to reconsider? If Johnny’s gone, and you kill me, there’s nobody to play with.”

Sherlock snarled, “I’m not playing anymore.” Finally, he gained the upper hand, cornering Moriarty against the railing and then forcing his head down into the water and holding it there. Once Moriarty’s thrashing ceased, Sherlock reached back to the boardwalk for the gun, then fired it once at close range into Moriarty’s chest. 

Sherlock climbed back across the rails and onto the boardwalk. He knelt at John’s side.

Feeling Sherlock’s touch, John whispered, “Is it—over?”

Sherlock half-smiled, eyes flicking over John, noting his injury and his vital signs. “Yes, John. We got him.” John nodded, a satisfied look on his face. “John, please. Stay with me.”

Sherlock took out his mobile and began to dial. In the water, a red cloud slowly spread in the water around Moriarty’s destroyed chest. Sherlock had about eight minutes until the next tour group would arrive; he would have to work fast.

 

John stirred in his hospital bed, and his eyes flickered open. The first thing he heard was the gasp of relief from Sherlock in the chair beside him.

“So where am I?”

“Little hospital, not on the island any more. Back across the causeway. It’s not St. Barts but it’ll do.”

John looked down and winced. “The arm?”

“Tissue damage, fair amount of blood loss, will no doubt require physical therapy. But you can heal.”

“And Moriarty?”

Sherlock’s face lit up in a half-smile. “Food for alligators.”

John giggled. “You’ve been feeding criminals to endangered animals? The park rangers are not going to be happy about this.”

As their smiles faded, John noticed Sherlock’s disheveled clothing and drawn expression. Sherlock choked, “Forgive me. I failed you, again. He came close to killing you.”

John looked at him with an understanding smile. “You didn’t need to do it alone. You never needed to. You and I protect each other. We did that, and we will.”

“Together, then.”

They drew close. “Together.”

The next hours were full of low conversation and gentle kisses. Finally, John slept, fingers tangled in Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock slept too, his head in John’s lap in the hospital bed. When Sherlock awakened in the wee hours of the next morning, he sent a text to Mycroft.

All done. M came to us. Cancel Rio and bring us back to London on February 28. J needs to recover. SH

Not so fast. Give yourself no less than a week after he’s out of the hospital and be in touch when you set a date. You have earned it. MH

Thank you, brother. SH


	19. Epilogue:  March 14

The two men stood on the tarmac beside the small jet, soaking up a few last minutes of warm sunlight. The shorter of the two wore his arm in a sling, and a black jacket drawn loosely around his shoulders. The taller wore a crisp suit and a gentle smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE. END. Thank you to the people who have shared this story with me--I'm so grateful!
> 
> And if anybody knows how to mark a work "complete," could you tell me please? New at this and can't figure it out!


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